Loveda Brown: Violets Are Blue: The Idyllwild Mystery Series, #10

By Jolie Tunnell

Loveda Brown's wedding vows instantly unravel with a single shot through the minister's heart. Who was the bullet for and why?

 

It's finally September in the tiny mountainside town of Idyllwild, California, as yet the Wild West of 1912, and everyone is present for Loveda Brown's wedding. But, with a single bullet, the celebration is ruined. With the law out of town, Loveda needs all the help she can get to bring the killer to justice. Loveda Brown is getting married—if it's the last thing she does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jolie Tunnell
• Release date: Oct 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988686767

Book preview

1

THURSDAY

B ut what is it? If my mood slid from happy to aggravated in those four little words, I justified it. Brides were given particular emotional license, weren’t they? This side of hysterics, of course. I adjusted my smile.

Special delivery, ma’am, the boy replied. He was tall and he self-consciously swiped at the long brown hair hanging over his eyes and repositioned his hat to contain it better. Direct from New York.

He studied the paper in his hand while I leaned over the veranda railing, trying to read it, too. This here is Idyllwild, California. The boy took a long look around us. And the delivery is for a Mr. and Mrs. John Wyman.

Carefully, I tucked John’s note back into the envelope. I’d been interrupted no less than three times trying to read it, but it seemed privacy in the middle of nowhere was scarce.

He looked up at me expectantly and the driver stayed on the seat of the wagon, eyes fixed on the horses in front of him. The pair had come all the way up the gravel drive to the Idyllwild Inn entry.

But I didn’t live here.

I’m Mrs. Wyman, I began. Or rather, I will be by noon. But we live down that side road, there. I pointed helpfully across the meadow to something that was once a logging road but now reduced to a rutted, overgrown, and unmarked trail. That is, I said, we’ll live there once we return from our wedding trip.

Where was everyone? How did I end up the only person available at the entire Idyllwild Inn for the delivery boy? Another privilege of being the bride, I supposed.

Where ya’all going? The boy had perked up at the word wedding and the driver slid his eyes in our direction.

New York. I rolled my eyes at the wagon.

The boy grinned. Funny, that.

Whatever was in the wagon had to be from my mother-in-law. What timing. Our wedding and our trip had been pushed forward, and she must have shipped the gift from New York long before our notice reached her.

Well, I said. You’ll have to deliver it to the cottage. Ten or twenty minutes down that road, on the left. No one is there right now but the door is unlocked.

You’ll sign for it? The boy was already up the large, wide steps to the veranda and I met him at the top.

I signed the slip and handed his pencil back. It’s from a clock company? I eyed the crate in the wagon. It’s huge.

With a tap on his hat brim, the boy hopped down the steps and clambered back into the wagon. Our guess is a grandfather clock, he said. We’ll set it in the main room and let you figure out the rest.

Thank you. My words were lost as the driver got the horse moving over the gravel and turned around.

There you are, Miss Brown! called a gay voice at my shoulder, Hattie. The girl, rarely out of her maid uniform, wore a deep green gown and her bright red hair, released from their normal coronet of braids and mob cap, adorned her small Gibson-girl figure like a light on a slender candle. She was beautiful, but saying so would make her blush and drop her stunning green eyes in embarrassment.

Instead, I kept my observations to myself and let her critical gaze take in my simple, gray morning dress. Narrow skirted with a slight puff in the sleeve, it was nothing compared to the gown waiting for me, and she knew it.

What are you doing out here? Hattie looped her arm through mine. You’re supposed to be getting dressed!

I tucked the note into a pocket. They pulled up right as I looked out the window and the dogs tried to eat the poor boy’s shoe when he tried climbing from the wagon. I bent to fondle the ears of a basset hound and he thumped his tail once on the wooden planks in acknowledgment. Everyone else is running around like a chicken. Just as well. It turned out to be another wedding gift.

The note was from my fiancé. John had sealed it with yellow wax, the way he used to do when he was away from town. Our courting days. I’d managed at least three readings. I sighed. It would have to be enough for now.

Oh, how exciting! Hattie steered me through the empty lobby and toward the guest room halls. We are going to have so much fun setting up house for you while you’re gone. What’s this one? Too big to be a fountain pen and too small to be a buggy.

She didn’t wait for an answer as we stopped at a hotel room door.

Charlotte’s been running the staff ragged this morning, Hattie continued, opening the door, and Karine got her cake into boxes with one hand while mixing a green mayonnaise for Lindley’s chef with the other. She held to door open. The woman is in her element.

Feminine exclamations greeted our appearance and several hands reached for me at once.

Loveda! At last! This from Molly, wife of the esteemed Mr. Lindley and dear friend. Her smile revealed a small gap between her two front teeth that only I noticed. Everyone else’s eyes went directly to Molly’s round belly. I’m itching to see you in this dress, hurry up! She handed me a button hook.

Emily went immediately to the large bed in the stately room and opened the long box on it. Maybe you refuse a veil, she said, pulling out something sheer, silky, and altogether decadent, but I won’t have you miss out on the finer parts of holy matrimony.

As the wife of our local Sheriff MacDougall, Emily was quick to pounce on any feminine opportunity in a town full of dust, leather, and daily grind.

It isn’t appropriate for a widow marrying the second time around, Em, I said, obediently unbuttoning my shoes. Where are the children?

Emily shook a pair of silk stockings at me. With the folks and heaven help them. I’ll take them in hand once you’re ready. Her blonde head nodded along with Molly’s brunette pompadour. Motherhood was serious business.

Hattie pulled me up and went to work unbuttoning my dress.

I think it’s far more grand than any old veil, Del cried from her wheeled chair. A striped satin hatbox completely filled her lap and the hat within waved white plumage into her violet eyes. Besides, your first marriage doesn’t count. And you can take this with you to New York and show all those highfaluting women what class looks like!

Del’s chair caused people to underestimate her, but we knew better. And while she was the local school mistress, Del’s defining gift was as a pianist. Del had been practicing for my wedding day for weeks.

I nodded at Del while Hattie tackled my corset. I hope I can keep up. John spent the weekend down the hill being fitted for a tuxedo. Can you imagine? For one glorious moment, I stood in my silk chemise and did just that. He’s taking me to several swanky supper clubs while we’re with his mother in New York.

That’s not all he did this weekend, Molly said, taking my corset from Hattie and trading it with a new one. My Lindley says Mr. Wyman stood up at Karine and Mr. Bouma’s wedding at the Justice of the Peace on Monday.

You should have seen them all when they came back, Hattie said. She gave my corset a yank that knocked the breath out of me. Karine Halvorsdatter Torkelson Bouma. There’s a name for you. She gave another yank and I grabbed the bed post to stay on my feet. They were as rosy and happy as any couple can be.

But Monday was Labor Day, Molly said. The office was open?

For Karine, Hattie huffed, "everyone